Fatum Terribile
by Lady of the Phoenix
Summary: A night out leads to something Reno can never forgive himself for.


Author's Notes: For my buddy Atreylune who just so happens to have caused me to write this after a long night of horrible torture… The Title means 'Terrible Fate'. Fear my mad Latin Skills… Or Not, because I stole it from Advent: One Winged Angel's lyrics.

* * *

Fatum Terribile

This wasn't the way the night was supposed to end, really. But wasn't that always how it went? Nights that started out with injuries and annoyance could end in the most amazing ways. And sadly, the reverse was true as often as not. This was one of those nights…

Neither spoke, knowing that even a whisper could give away their position. The whole thing could have ended much more simply if that bar fight Reno had gotten into had been with one or two people, but with the whole damn bar? Now, less than ten minutes later, the two Turks were hiding from a near mob of angry drunks. Well, mob minus the pitch forks and torches that is.

"Got enough bullets?" Reno whispered over his shoulder to his partner.

"…" Rude didn't reply, but Reno could feel the slight nod because of their proximity. With their backed pressed together he could even feel Rude's extra gun tucked in his belt for situations like this.

"Should be easy then," the red-head mumbled to himself, but that didn't kill the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

They were hiding in an abandoned building, five potential points of entry to cover. Yet if they were quick, if they were smart, they could do it.

"Easy," Rude agreed.

That was when the first sound of footsteps came.

"Yeah… Nothing could possibly go wrong."

Such conversational tones. Such casual words.

Such a bad way to say good-bye…

* * *

There is the sound of splintering wood from one of the points of entry, and both know that the time has come to show why they were selected above all others as Turks. The elder has three, four, five men down before the younger even takes his first shot. It isn't like Reno to be so slow on the trigger, not in this kind of situation. But he's waiting, because he knew that both of them would have to cover two entrances, and hope that the mob after them wouldn't think of using the large skylight above them as a fifth entry point, or as a weapon. A bullet or even a fist in the right spot could send shards of glass, the size of Rude's fist in some cases, showering down upon them.

Another entrance was made, the loud sound of metal on metal testifying to the fact that it was one of the garage doors to this old warehouse. Reno's gun starts to shout in the night, taking down people at a whirlwind rate. Still, it isn't fast enough. When a shot from one of the few opposing them that carried guns bit deep into Reno's shoulder he knew something bad was bound to happen. It wasn't like him to get shot, ever. Sure, there were broken bones, torn ligaments, even a dislocated shoulder or two, but never this. Anger flared in the red-haired Turk, his gunshots becoming faster, his aim less accurate, but still deadly enough.

Soon they have people coming at them from all four directions, and they are running low on ammo. Both need desperately to reload, but neither wants to leave their partner undefended.

"Yo Rude," Reno said, "Thinking what I'm thinking?"

The stoic male nodded. When Reno quickly turned on him the bald man ducked. The few seconds of cover fire, and the safety presented by having another body blocking attack from the rear was enough for Rude to load two new clips into the guns he carried. Quickly he was up and Reno was down, returning the favor and allowing the other male to reload, though far faster than Rude just had. In these brief seconds the two were too focused to hear the dreaded sound from above… The sound of boots on glass.

Once more they were back to back, guns crying out as they took down man after man. It was almost like the whole slums had stalked them at this point. Wouldn't be a surprise either. It was that mob mentality working against them. The people thought that in great enough numbers they could take down two Senior Turks without reparation of any sort. How wrong they were. Though their attentions were heavily on Reno they would not have his blood that night.

Both were confused when the mobs suddenly seemed to dwindle, few daring walking in on the gunmen. In the silence broken only rarely by a gunshot heralding that a Turk had slain one foolish enough to poke their head out a new sound finally reached them… the cracking of glass three floors above. At last the two cast their gaze heavenward to see a man smiling down on them from the edge of the skylight.

"Shit," came the understatement of the evening from Reno as the cracks spread through the glass in beautiful patterns comparable only to spider webs made out of frosty ice.

The pattern in the ceiling above was spreading, refusing to stop for anything. As it went farther from the point of the original break the cracks spread out, creating increasingly larger pieces of which to be cautious of. The worst thing of the whole situation was that the crack had started on the edge, thus there were larger pieces over the heads of Reno and Rude.

"Run," Rude said to Reno. And he was right. Facing the mob in hand-to-hand combat would be superior to dodging the deadly shards as they rained down.

"Not without you buddy," Reno said, knowing he sounded ridiculous.

With those words came the sound of something like bells as the glass finally began its plummet downwards. Small pieces struck together creating the most beautiful musical tones they had ever heard in their lives. But it wasn't these they had to fear. It was the larger pieces heading right for them.

He knew he should have run, but he could not help but watch in awe as his pending doom rushed down to meet him. He could see them, like large, malformed icicles hanging in the air for fractions of a second. Reno closed his eyes, crouched down a bit and accepted his fate.

Except the pain never came. Icy blue eyes opened to look for where his death had gone. This was when he saw it. He had looked up, only to see a shadow had fallen over him, protecting him from what had seemed a certain doom. There was Rude, his partner of five years, standing tall over him. Yet all Reno could see was the lack of sunglasses on his face and the pain in his hazel eyes. Blood began to color the shirt of his protector, and he could see, just barely, the small spikes of glass that had passed into Rude's back pressing against the flimsy barrier of the white uniform shirt. A moment passed, no, an eternity, of them just looking at each other. Deep inside Reno swore at Rude, demanding to know why he'd do something so stupid.

His fall is slow, like something out of a movie. Reno stands to catch him. There is a feel of glass against his shirt, but it doesn't cut in, the passage through Rude's body, and evident scraping against bone having dulled the tips. A brief moment found Reno holding Rude, looking into the eyes still choked with pain.

"God damn you," Reno hissed as he felt the man going limp in his arms. As the larger male slipped from his grip Reno felt the brush of Rude's backup against his hand. Yes, he'd have revenge.

The gun was unfamiliar in his hand, not one he'd ever handled before, but still a model he was familiar with. He sunk down with Rude, his hand carefully pulling the gun out from the waist of Rude's pants slowly to make sure none would notice. Then, with his own fully loaded weapon in hand he leapt up, and the gunshots once more ruled the night. Until he head the footsteps on the roof again.

Then he looks up, eyes wide in shock as he registers just what it is that the man who had killed Rude was holding… a grenade. At once Reno's eyes fly about the warehouse and he finally accepts the fact he had chosen to ignore so totally from the beginning of the fight. The barrels around them all say the same thing: Caution! Flammable!

Anyone can hear the pin being pulled out, anyone can see the fear plain in the Turk's eyes. He doesn't think, only runs as the thing is pitched down towards him.

He barely makes the door in time. No one is blocking his way out this time. None want to be close when the place blows. Who can blame them? It isn't until he's on the ground, forced down from the shockwaves of the explosion that he realizes it. Rude was in there… He couldn't have gotten out in time.

It's not even twelve ten and already the day is blown to hell. For a while he stands there, watches the blaze of the building, and then he goes to finish off any foolish enough to wait around and test the endurance of a Turk. The whole while he is cursing his partner, his hatred masking something far deeper, and far harder to forget. And he knows, deep inside, that all he can do is try to forget the pain of loss, the sorrow of having the one so important to him fail him at last. Or was it that he failed Rude?

Cold blue eyes look down on the gun in hand, he had dropped his own inside the warehouse in his rush to escape. There should be a bullet left, enough for relief from what he knew would come.

And he knew he couldn't do it yet, not until he was sure. Not until he was absolutely sure, because he couldn't let Rude down like that.

Yet he knows, beyond any doubts, that they will never even find enough of him to bury…


End file.
